


Afire Love

by TheChief, YourForever



Series: Muke AF [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Oops, so this is number twenty for Meta's birthday set up, um yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChief/pseuds/TheChief, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourForever/pseuds/YourForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things were all good yesterday and then the devil took your memory and if you fell to your death today, I hope that Heaven is your resting place. I heard the doctors put your chest in pain, but then that could’ve been the medicine and now you’re lying in the bed again. Either way, I’ll cry with the rest of them.</p><p>And my father told me, son, it’s not his fault he doesn’t know your face and you’re not the only one. </p><p>Darling, hold me in your arms the way you did last night and we’ll lie inside for a little while here. I could look into your eyes until the sun comes up and we’re wrapped in light, in life, in love. Put your open lips on mine and slowly let them shut, for their designed to be together. With your body next to mine, our hearts will beat as one and we’re set alight, we’re afire, love.</p><p>Things were all good yesterday, but then the devil took your breath away. And now, we’re left here in the pain. Black suit, black tie, standing in the rain and now my family is one again, stapled together with the strangers and a friend. Came to mind, I should paint it with a pen. Six years old, I remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afire Love

**Author's Note:**

> Reason Number Twenty:
> 
> Because, at this point, it’s the least I can do.

The band falls apart as most things do. Slowly at first, and then all at once. Sure, we fight on the bus, but that’s because we’re _always_ together and occasionally a guy needs a little privacy, but we always fix it.

Even when Ash walks into the hotel room he’s sharing with me and finds Michael and I together in the shower. There’s awkward tension for a day or so before Cal makes us all sit down and talk it out and we do. We fix it. We get passed it.

We decide to keep it to ourselves for now. We’ll tell everyone as soon as our next tour is up because that’ll give us the chance to talk it over with our label. We don’t need another threat to our careers.

So we wait. Eventually, it gets to the point that Ash and Cal can tell when Michael and I are having a moment or want to be together. After that, it’s not up to a coin toss to see whose sharing rooms because we’re always in the same bed.

We manage to get through that. We live through Cal falling in love and falling out of it just as quickly. Through the media blowup that happens. The girl turns around and claims pregnancy, rape, anything that keeps the cameras on her.

Calum gets his name dragged through the mud and slowly pulls away from the idea of being romantic. Starts falling more toward one night stands with the band sluts that are backstage at every concert.

We stay together through all of this and more and yet, through it all, we’re slowly pulling away from each other. During a break between tours, we’re home in Sydney for almost seven months with only small scattered shows between. We remember what it’s like to be individuals again.

Jack and I grow close again and mum insists that she comes on the next tour with us. It’s unanimously agreed that she can, and she probably will. Ashton had called it.

What isn’t expected is Ash being sick to the next practice. Or, we assume he is because he’s never missed practice before, but he’s not there and his phone goes straight to voicemail.

* * *

Two days later and we’re together again, chilling out in our practice studio – an old warehouse that Cal had converted into the perfect rehearsal space with a small apartment space for himself in the back – but Ash is running late.

At least he calls that time. He apologizes profusely, but doesn’t explain his tardy. Instead he’s flustered and grinning and all doe eyed. We ignore the obvious signs and get to writing.

That’s one of the last times we see Ash over the summer. Besides the flurry of rehearsals and making of set lists the week before the show itself, we mostly keep to ourselves. Cal and I meet up and write sometimes, or Michael shows up at my house and we try to write, though it doesn’t always last.

By the end of our break, I can count the times I’ve seen Ashton outside of rehearsals on one hand. Even the rehearsals aren’t nearly as high as they should be because his attendance went from twice a week to once, to every other to us not even telling him about changes in place or time.

Two days before the tour, we’re back in the studio, recording the new songs Michael, Cal and I managed to come up with. We’ve only put down a few tracks when Ashton announces that he has big news for us and that he thinks this might be his last tour with us.

After that it all goes downhill. We get the full story behind his two and a half year long romance with a girl he’d met during a concert originally. They’d started talking on Twitter and then DMing each other before finally exchanging phone numbers.

She’d been the reason for his absence so many times, though he never admits that out loud.

Michael and I understand in a strange, twisted way, except we don’t – not really – because we’d never have to face the choice between the band and love because we were in love with our band as much as each other.

Still, Ashton tells the label that he’s getting married and that he wants to take a leave, get settled down, before restarting everything.

Chaos unfolds and the next tour is announced as the last for a while from us.

* * *

The tour ends with roaring crowds and screams, the last notes of Try Hard filtering through the stadium because we wanted to throw it back a bit.

Ashton goes home and gets married. Cal heads off, though he doesn’t exactly stay in touch with us, we manage to keep track of him as he keeps the 1D boys company for a bit.

Michael and I stay in L.A. for while. We meet with fans, do a few impromptu gigs and briefly contemplate heading to Vegas to get married because we can.

Except we end up going home sooner than expected for Ashton’s wedding and Cal is absent still.

I go back to our hotel room, not that I couldn’t go home, but sometimes I like to spend time with Mikey without mum looking over my shoulder. Or Jack. He still teases us relentlessly.

It takes two tries for the door to accept my keycard and I open it to find Michael passed out on the bed, a woman in his arms. Shock is the first thing to set in, but I still yank the covers back to confirm that they’re both undressed before grabbing my duffel and leaving without another word.

Michael doesn’t even call or show up to apologize.

I head home and continue working on my songs. The recording studio is eerily empty, but I want to have everything down for the other boys to hear when we all meet up again, especially if it means I can ignore the inevitable reunion with Mikey.

* * *

Cal stops by briefly between tours with All Time Low and One Direction, respectively. He seems almost excited again. He’s gotten back into playing football in his free time, whether it be with one of the band members or a fan or a random group in a park somewhere.

He doesn’t seem like the man who’d been burned twice before the break.

He also says he doesn’t know if he’ll come back. He’s about to do some great things and he doesn’t think the band will be the same once Ashton’s married and spending every few weeks at home with his wife.

I don’t know how to respond except with a smile and wishing him well. I’m sure he’ll do great at whatever he wants to do.

Cal and I leave with a shared smile and he says he hopes Michael and I are as lucky together as he is.

I don’t bother to tell him that it’s been six months since I’ve heard from the guitarist.

I wave goodbye as he leaves and head back inside the small flat that is mine and mine alone. I could afford more, but I don’t want too much space when it’s just me.

* * *

When the time comes to meet back up and sign a new contract with the label, Ash and I are the only ones there and he’s armed with a lawyer, a wife, and a grin too big for his face.

The agents tell us to get back in contact with the others and, when we can’t, they offer us solo opportunities.

Ash shakes his head, saying he doesn’t want to be shoved into a band he doesn’t know and he’d rather stay at home with his wife and the child they’re expecting. He has enough money from the band still coming in that he’ll be fine for a while yet.

There’s nothing else for me to do, so I accept their offer. I start reworking the new songs I’ve written for one voice instead of three or four.

* * *

It’s another year and a half before I see any of them again and then, it’s Michael. Apparently, he’s back in L.A. and I have a concert that night. He’s outside a club and he waves hello to me briefly before heading into some low slung building, dark lights illuminating the too thin girl at his side.

The ache in my chest only eases once I’m onstage, but that night I still dream of the too dark circles under his eyes, the desperation and relief in his voice. Though I could’ve been imagining all of that.

My solo tour continues and soon I’m cycling back home, Michael lost admit a cloud of worries because my voice is getting a workout on a whole new level, but I’ve been paired up with Ed Sheeran for my next tour and, while technically I’m his opening act, we’re still gonna be going everywhere.

* * *

Fast forward another two years and the only contact we’ve had was a brief visit to Ash’s birthday party where his wife was too smiley and their daughter was always tugging on Ashton’s fingers to get his attention and he looked strained and tired and he owned a successful bar with live music that wasn’t him.

Cal was doing big things throughout Western Europe and no one knew where Michael was so I was the only one there.

Now, I’m warming up before a show just a few hours from home when my phone rings and I’m puzzled because mum normally doesn’t call me before shows. She knows how my nerves get.

Still, I answer and she sounds breathless on the other end. “Hun, hospital. Now.”

Without a second thought, I tell my agent I have to go, apologizing profusely. I know my fans will be mad, but their numbers have dwindled since the band split up as it is.

The emergency room is almost empty when I get there, but mum is there, sitting in a chair, looking worried.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused.

“Mikey’s here.”

My first instinct is to turn, hide the sharp stab of pain in my chest and walk away, but I know it’ll fade soon enough.

So, when the nurse walks up to me and offers a shy smile, I don’t tell her she’s got the wrong person and walk away like I want to. I let her tell me that Michael Clifford was hit by a car while under the influence of narcotics. I let her tell me that he had extreme internal bleeding and his liver is slowly shutting down. I let her tell me that he hasn’t woken up and they called me because there was a picture of the band in his wallet. One of the nurses apparently recognized me from her kid’s poster and got in contact with my mum on Twitter.

I nod, jaw stiffened, and follow her to the room where Michael is. “There isn’t an answer from his family and we don’t know what else to do. He won’t be alive much longer.”

My mum follows me into the room and the nurse leaves us alone with him. I’m tempted to call her back, ask about the whole ‘family only’ rule, but maybe former rockstars get an exception.

So we talk. She tries to figure out a way to get ahold of everyone, to fix everything.

Except I don’t think she can.

So, keeping myself separate from the entire event as much as possible, I call in the other two boys. Ashton agrees to come immediately and Cal takes the next plane back. Mum goes about booking the three of us into a nearby hotel – I’d given up my flat long ago for a house in America since my agent said it was where most of my fans were.

Ash, being closer, arrives first. He looks more relaxed and the daughter on his hand has the same goofy smile.

The wedding ring is gone and when I ask him, he just says that the divorce was a necessary evil due to circumstance.

A nod later, we’re sharing coffees and his daughter has climbed up onto my lap and is tugging at my shades until their off of my neck and she’s wearing them.

I don’t mind.

Cal arrives next and he’s more built and almost warmer than before. Definitely happier.

I’m more than a little shocked when a woman runs over, almost tripping on the way, before slipping her hand into his.

Ash and I greet him with smiles and hugs. We’re introduced to the woman, his girlfriend, and he’s introduced to Ash’s daughter and, if anything, the blonde becomes more smitten with Cal than me.

Despite all our joy at reuniting, there is a bittersweet tang to every smile and Ash and Cal just keep sending me sympathetic looks.

Neither of them know that Michael and I haven’t talked in years because I haven’t had the heart to tell them.

And I won’t.

Let them believe that their guitarist was just hiding out in a shared flat instead of coming to sign up for a new contract. Let them believe that he’s been going on tour with me and staying backstage to watch his boyfriend perform.

Don’t let them know that he became a drug addict and an alcoholic and ended up walking into the street in front of a car.

Don’t let them know that he’s not dying because of the wreck – because the doctors managed to fix that – but because of his general carelessness. Because I hadn’t been there to keep an eye on him.

Instead I force my shoulders straighter, and when the nurse walks in to tell them that Mikey’s awake, I’m the first to stand up.

“Lukey?” It’s Michael’s voice coming from the bed and I move forward quickly because he sounds stressed and tired and so much like late nights back on the bus when everything was good.

He isn’t awake for long and the drugs in his system keep him from waking up completely so it’s a lot of babble and questions before Michael’s reaching for my hand and he’s slipping back into sleep.

I make a move to leave, but his fingers, still laced with mine, tighten, pull me back.

“Make it stop hurting.”

“It hurts? I’ll get you a nurse.” I turn again and, once again, he pulls me back.

“No, not… not like that. Doesn’t hurt like that. Drugs won’t help. Tried to self medicate already, look where it put me.” His smile is strained and fake and I think the drugs might be wearing off a tad bit because he sounds honest and true.

“Then what-?”

“My insides, my arms, my heart. Hurts not to hold you. To touch..” He pants for breath and I immediately move to take a step back, my anger from before flaring forward.

If he’d felt this way after fucking cheating then he could’ve just called. Could’ve said something. I was still so helplessly in love that, despite pain and anger and desperation, I was still wanting to forgive.

But it was too late.

Before I can step back, I remember that the other boys still think that we’re together and Mikey obviously thinks something’s okay with what he’s saying, so I give him what he wants and fold myself onto the too small bed beside him.

“Better?” I ask, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, hair that’s bleached to white tickling my cheek.

“Almost.” He grabs for my arm, pulls it around him. I’m careful to avoid the IV drip in his wrist, but I let him move us around until he’s got his head tucked against my shoulder and there’s a hand pressing too cold fingers to my belly.

“Don’t leave.” His voice is pleading and weak and I know he’s already won.

“I won’t.” I promise and I mean to keep it, no matter what the nurse tells me later.

“Good. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, promise.” I nod and tell him to go to sleep. He doesn’t answer for a minute before shifting back until he’s brushing his lips over mine, more of a goodnight promise than anything really intimate, but I don’t pull away.

He dozes off a few minutes later and I keep my promise, refusing to budge from the bed. I eventually start to doze myself, fingers of one hand tracing his cheekbones as I do. I vaguely remember seeing Cal and Ash walk by the door, but they don’t come in when I motion for them to so I let them head back to the hotel alone.

When I wake up, it’s because he’s cold. My fingers are still pressed to his cheek, but his breathing is shallow. I don’t check the time on the clock nearby because I know it hasn’t been nearly long enough.

I know what comes next.

“I’m sorry sir, but if you’re not family, you have to leave.”

“We’re engaged.” I lie to the blonde nurse standing in the doorway. “Just let… just let me stay here a little longer, please.” I don’t realize how much I mean it until my voice cracks on the last word.

Of course, ‘a little longer’ is cut short by the beeping of a machine and the nurse tugs me up, off the mattress and out of the room as two doctors come in, followed by a few nurses. They don’t have a fancy machine with them. They’re not planning on bringing him back.

I turn from the door and run to the nearest bathroom to throw up.

* * *

Ashton’s daughter gives me back my glasses when I see her again two days later. She isn’t smiling and she’s wearing a black tutu with a pink tank top. The letter in black and purple sparkles across it says _Princess_ and Cal and I have no doubt.

Cal is holding hands with his girl again, this time without the smiles.

My mum’s hand is in mine, but I have to let go when I’m called up to give the eulogy.

I make my way through it with a distant, too cold smile, but then he’s being lowered into the ground and I’m glad Ashton picked the day with the biggest chance of rain because ten minutes after the priest has left and he’s officially buried, only the three of us are left.

Ash, Cal, and I, circled around the grave and the rain finally starts falling while Ashton’s daughter is taking a walk with Calum’s girlfriend and my mum has left to take care of the catering, at my L.A. house, because she’s good at compartmentalizing and moving on by keeping busy.

When I fall to my knees because I can no longer stand, the other two are right there with me and I feel all of my anger well up again and I’m punching the ground at the head of his grave, my suit covered in fresh dirt and mud and grass.

Of course he’d been asked to be buried here. This was where we’d first admitted _something_ to each other. Out loud anyway. In this town in the Southern California where we haven’t been to since.

Cal’s hand is on my shoulder and Ashton is crouched beside me.

I feel the stabbing pain from before, when I knew he was there, become an ache, slowly feeding through me until it’s all I can feel and damnit, we could’ve fixed this.

And I sob. I sob because there’s no reason for me to fake the cool and collected fiancé. Because there’s nothing else I can do. Because he deserves so much more than my tears, but it’s all I can give him.

Because I still love him. Because it's not a past tense thing, but definitely present and I know that feeling isn't gonna fade anytime soon.

But suddenly the three of us are together again, in stark contrast, and I know it’s not going to go back to how it was. We’ll never be a band again, because we can’t be 5 Seconds of Summer without Michael Clifford, but we can be family again.

And I won’t let this opportunity slip by.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send any requests to my [ Tumblr ](http://bring-me-the-superwholock.tumblr.com) or my [Twitter](http://twitter.com/littlebluemys) anytime!


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